Drinks on the deck might be the first good suggestion anybody made today.

"Yes, I very much fucking do want that drink," you tell him, giving Dex a pointed look about the small dick energy thing. He just shrugs a little, then turns his back on you both and starts putting away the last of the food. "I'm going out on the deck," you say, because he might be your best and oldest friend, but that doesn't change the fact that you're about ready to slap him right now. "Anybody who wants to have an actual good time is welcome to join me."

"I am nothing but good times, babe," Scott assures you with another friendly clap on the shoulder, which makes you laugh. You intentionally do not even look at Dex, who probably hasn't even finished his first giant eye roll yet, then on impulse pick up a beer on your way out even though Scott is already making you a drink.

You down most of the beer in one go, even though it's warm, and try to let go of the tension that takes root under your breastbone every time you mediate another dumb exchange between them. "Whoa! Slow up, power chugger," Scott says when he comes out holding two cups and sees you finishing your beer already. "We've got two weeks to get our booze on." He hands you one of the cups and drags one of the deck chairs over to join you.

After Dex fails to come out and join you both by the time you've almost finished your drink, you decide to suppress your hurt feelings and just let him sulk inside like a little baby if that's what he wants. You are going to enjoy the company of your good friend Scott, who is as easy on the eyes as he is to spend time with, and you're not going to let Dex spoil your good time tonight after spending the last five months sucking up to your parents and playing the role of repentant teen who has learned her lesson definitely for sure.

"Hold up, I have to catch up to you," Scott says, laughing, and tips back the rest of his drink. He stands up and goes back in, returning with a pitcher, which he sets on the table and uses to top off your cup and refill his own.

You realize you barely tasted the first one, because you were so tied up being annoyed about Dex. You resolve to take your time with the second, no matter how irritated you get, because you aren't looking to end this afternoon with Scott having to peel you off the deck and pretend he doesn't know you peed your shorts. The drink isn't super sweet, and tastes bright and fresh and summer-citrusy. "What is this?" you ask Scott.

"Mohito," he says. "Kenesha Willis taught me to make it last fall. Lime juice, rum, mint. Good, isn't it? I crushed the mint myself," he says proudly, which, it's sort of endearingly adorable that he thinks this is an accomplishment.

"Yeah," you agree. "Really good actually. It's not gross and sweet. Like I'm really feeling this upgrade from the Boone's Farm trash we'd usually be stuck with."

Scott laughs. "The Boone's fuzzy navel isn't bad."

"Ew," you disagree. "It's like if you left Sunny D in the sun till it turned."

"But you love Sunny D."

"Uh, no. I do not. I love THAT DEE, I think is what you're looking for," you tell him, because you're feeling pleasantly buzzy and if it wasn't this joke it was going to be dese nuts! or its comparable equivalent.

Scott snorts a little, but does not venture to comment on your professed love for THAT DEE. "Wanna play something?" he asks.

"Like what, truth or dare?" you ask.

Scott looks at you, shaking his head incredulously. "Why would you think anybody older than the eighth grade wants to play that?" he inquires politely.

"Uh, because its purpose isn't to function as a real game because it's just a flimsy pretense for getting up to all kinds of inadvisable shit?" you point out.

"Oh, is that what we're doing?" He takes a long sip from his mojito, then makes a face at you.

You smile, because that face means he's going to go along with whatever you suggest next.